The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

“Why, they seem to have something painted on their trunks.”
    Trixie nodded. “Letters of the alphabet. That one says ABD, I remember. The one next to it says CFG. There’re more just like them. And you’re not going to believe this next bit. Some of those trees are wearing bandages, too.”
    “ Bandages ?”
    “Green bandages. I was dying to find out all about them, but Brian and Mart wouldn’t let me ask. They said I’m nosy enough as it is!”
    “Never!” said Honey, laughing.
    “How could I have forgotten all about those trees till now?” Trixie murmured to herself.
    “Maybe you’ve been too busy tracking down other hot leads,” Honey told her, “and maybe that’s just as well. If you hadn’t forgotten about Sleepyside Hollow, it would have been another mystery to keep you awake nights.”
    But all at once, Trixie wasn’t listening. Her gaze sharpened as she stared down into the clearing. “What’s that yellow object on the front porch, Honey?” she asked.
    “Oh, Trixie,” breathed Honey, “do you think it could possibly be—?”
    “Yes,” said Trixie firmly, “I do. I believe we’ve found Harrison’s bicycle! Now all we have to do is find Harrison himself.”
    Susie pricked up her ears and whickered softly as Trixie’s hands tightened on the slack reins. Then, as carefully as before but with growing excitement, the two riders guided their horses down the steep slope toward the house.
    The yellow bicycle was propped neatly against the porch railing, but Harrison was nowhere in sight.
    “He must be in the house,” Trixie said.
    She slid from Susie’s back and looped the reins in the bushes. Soon Honey was standing beside her. They hurried to the front door.
    Trixie knocked, waited, and knocked again. There was no answer.
    They listened, but all they could hear was the gentle whispering of the breeze in the treetops.
    Trixie stepped back from the door. “I’m going to take a peek in one of these windows,” she said firmly.
    “But supposing someone’s there but just doesn’t want to answer the door?” Honey objected. “They might imagine we’re selling something. Did you think of that?”
    “I’ll only be a minute,” Trixie said, speaking more truthfully than she knew.
    She moved to a window and pressed her face to the cool glass. At first she could see nothing but the dark outlines of comfortable furniture. Then, as her eyes gradually became adjusted to the dim interior, she began to pick out details of the room.
    It was the living room, that much was certain. Trixie saw a wide, cozy fireplace, where a neatly laid fire needed only a match to set it cheerfully ablaze. She saw one wall lined with books and another hung with prints of famous paintings. She saw a door standing slightly ajar.
    As she watched, the door began to open, slowly, silently. Trixie pressed closer to the window, straining her eyes to see who had come in.
    “Harrison,” she called uncertainly, “is that you?”
    No one answered, but all at once, Trixie had the feeling that someone was there, watching her from inside the room. Then, before she could move, something leaped at the window, straight toward her face!
    Trixie screamed and jumped, falling hard against the porch railing.
    “What is it?” Honey shouted. “What did you see?”
    Trixie shuddered. “It—it was a terrible black hairy thing! It—it had long white fangs! Oh, Honey! There’s a monster in that house!”

To the Rescue • 4

    HONEY NEVER WAS ABLE to explain what she did next. She knew what she meant to do. She meant for them both to leap on their horses and ride far, far away, never to return.
    What she actually did first was to turn and peer through the window. What she did after that was to stand there, quite still.
    After a few seconds, Trixie saw Honey’s shoulders shaking and heard her making muffled, snuffly noises.
    “Is—is the monster still there?” Trixie asked, her voice trembling. “Can you see it?”
    Honey turned away from the window. Her face was scarlet. Her lips were pressed tightly together. She looked as though she were about to collapse, and then she did—with laughter!
    “Oh, Trixie,” she cried, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, “I’m truly sorry! I tried so hard to hold it in. Yes, your monster’s still here, but you’d better come and meet him. I think he’s cute.”
    A cute monster? What in the world could Honey be talking about? Reluctantly, Trixie walked to the window and